A Different Story
by JazzyLittleMonster
Summary: Pre RENT time, but AU. Part of the Another Road, Another Way series. Someone's first day at her new job...but maybe not the someone you think. Now continued into multichapter fic, with A/C pairing. Chapter 4 up.
1. It's A Living

_A/N: __Rent and it's characters do not belong to me. _

_She appears more vulnerable here I think than she does in RENT, since she is younger and has had much less time & experience in the city. I hope you don't find her OOC.  
_

* * *

It's A Living

The "backstage entrance" to the Cat Scratch Club was a heavy metal door with a sticky stain on the handle; blood, and other bodily fluids. She pushed against it with a bony shoulder, wiping her hand on the hem of her skirt as it banged shut behind her.

It wasn't the worst situation she'd been in since she arrived in the city two months ago. Not by a long shot. And the feeling of self-disgust was outweighed by the strange pride in shedding her past and standing on her own two feet. Struggling, yes, but getting by, and doing it herself; without debts, favours, abuse or restraint. But everything has a price, and to finance her freedom she was making this sacrifice. Giving her body over to the pleasure of others; to leering, touching, fumbling in the dark. She felt simultaneously freer and more trapped than she ever had done.

The changing room was separated off with a purple chiffon scarf hung like a curtain over a hole in the dirty wall. A mixture of a dozen cheap perfumes assaulted her as she pushed the makeshift curtain aside and entered the small room. Girls crammed together around a few small mirrors, sequins and feathers littered the floor, a busty blonde in a pink and black faux-silk bra and snap garter nearly crashed into her as she pushed past and through the door. Dilated pupils, blank stare. But that wasn't surprising or unusual in a place like this.

Finding a space in the far corner, she made her way across and put down her carrier bag. She took out the eyeliner, vaguely aware of appraising looks from the other girls in her peripheral vision. She didn't need to use the mirror; the routine of applying make-up was almost too familiar to her. It was comforting in this new and nerve-wracking situation. Smudge the liner, blot the lips, blend on the cheekbones. Smudge, blot, blend. Smudge, blot, blend. She concentrated on the process, attempting to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.

The clothes she wasn't so familiar with. Although she dressed extravagantly and femininely, she was by no means a slut. She felt overexposed in the red corset top and black panties, and the second-hand fishnets tore as she tugged them too quickly with sweaty hands. "Shit."

"Here, sugar." One of the eldest of the girls, she noted, or one whom life had taken the greatest toll on. The lines on her face showed through thick make-up which was carelessly applied, and her speech was punctuated with rattling coughs and puffs on a cigarette held between yellowing fingers with false nails. Vivid red.

"I always carry a spare pair" she rasped, holding out a pair of fishnets.

Accepting them with a thanks and a smile, she turned her back to put them on.

What she was most nervous about was how the men would react to her. She could dance, she knew that. She'd been a natural from a young age; the rhythm seemed to go through her effortlessly, and she was never short of energy. But as confident as she appeared strutting around or shimmying to the music, she had her share of hang-ups, and was particularly self-conscious when it came to her body.

There had never been any complaints so far. Sexy, they called her. Men she had been with in the past few weeks, since she became desperate for money. It wasn't all they called her, but she chose not to remember the worse things. That was how she got this job. Ironically, a spot at the Cat Scratch Club was quite a sought-after position. She'd come with personal recommendation from the manager's ex-boyfriend, so even though she wasn't their conventional type, she was hired straight away.

Lucky girl.

That night would come with a price too, a hefty and unfair price. But she was yet to learn of that. Four weeks later, clinic, bloodtests. That's a different story...

After pulling on the fishnets, more carefully this time, she sat on the chair next to her carrier bag. Her thin delicate hands were trembling, so she clasped them together and clamped them between her legs. She waited.

Soon the others began making their way out to the stage. Last minute spritzes; hairspray and perfume, pushing up tits, touching up lipstick. Cigarettes were stubbed out and bottles of vodka swigged as they collected themselves for a long night's work. One by one, the small room emptied; seeming dingier and sadder in the absence of their chatter and the busy crowd of bodies.

But she didn't leave. Caught up in her nerves, hoping to prolong or delay or avoid what was to come completely, she just sat there clenching her small hands between her legs, tapping her platform boot subconsciously.

Only one other girl remained. She was a Latina, with a skinny frame - more skeletal even than her own - large honey brown eyes that matched hers, and a mass of beautiful untidy curls. She was the definition of words like _wild _and _sexy_. She reached out a gloved hand, playing with the borrowed fishnets just above her knee as she knelt beside her.

"You're new aren't you?" she said, with kind eyes and a friendly smile.

"Don't worry, with an ass like yours, you'll be fine", she winked playfully, the eyes twinkled. "I'm Mimi", she added. "What's your name?"

"I'm Angel." The returned smile was involuntary, coming up from somewhere warm within her.

"Well come on then, girl, let's give those creeps what they pay for!"

Mimi grabbed her hand and Angel interlaced their fingers, allowing herself to be dragged up and out through the chiffon curtain, down the dark hallway and through to the stage. As soon as she stepped out, she could feel their eyes on her. Invading her, undressing her. She thought of her Uncle. Fists, breath, pain, silence. And what's-his-name two weeks ago. The first time she got paid for it. Rough, shoving, raw, empty. Sex equals pleasure, but not for her. Every time. Once she believed in Prince Charming. A starry eyed, naive little girl; her heart was too big for her, her Nana used to say. (Well the pronouns were different, but the sentiment was what she liked to remember.) But experience taught Angel that there was only one man in the world. And he was a bastard. _Don't let the bastards grind you down, girl._ Mimi would say that, she guessed, if Mimi could hear inside her head. But Mimi was currently occupied on all fours with her ass in the air.

Pushing the thoughts aside, she let the music flow through her and began to move. It drowned out the shouts and whistles, and whenever she felt them looking, she glanced over to Mimi. Making eye contact, they smiled at each other.

Later, when she scooted past to stuff a dollar in another girl's g-string, Mimi leaned back to whisper breathlessly in her ear.

"Having fun?" she asked

Maybe it was the sparkle in Mimi's eyes, but despite herself, Angel giggled and whispered back, "It's a living".


	2. Turn The Music Up

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews :) I decided to go ahead and make this into a multichapter fic, not sure how long it'll run yet but I think I can squeeze a good few chaps out of the idea. Updates may not be regular but I'm currently on a bit of a spree! This chapter is quite obviously in two parts, but in the spirit of my first ever Thanksgiving I'm giving you both at once rather than splitting it into two chapters. Happy Thanksgiving! Hope you all had great days._

_And I don't own RENT._

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Turn The Music Up

The yellow stage lights filtered through the thick cloud of smoke and sweat masked by cheap perfume. The music roared, the bass vibrating through him.

He shifted in his seat, wiping moist palms against the worn denim of the knees of his pants, and gripped his glass of ominous-looking beer too tightly; he was uncomfortable.

Collins had never done this before.

It was Roger's idea, a guy's night out, and Mark, bless him, had been only too keen to agree to a night at the Cat Scratch Club. Plonked into the real world, fresh out of Columbia, this was one of many new experiences for Collins.

So far he was finding life in Alphabet City to his liking, albeit a far cry from his upper-middle class upbringing. It was new, exciting, gritty real life in a beautiful and truthful way. Collins often over-analysed and became poetic over the simplest things.

It was Mark's first time at a strip club too; his eager expression and wide eyes reminded Collins of a kid at Christmas.

Roger, however, was quickly becoming a regular here, and leaned back cockily in his chair, surveying Mark with the grin of someone more experienced.

Watching the girls writhe and grind to the music, Collins mused that he should be more turned on.

He'd never really taken the time to define his sexuality; the whole notion of sex and love was a bit obscure to him. He was attracted to both girls and boys, but rarely felt strongly enough to act upon it, aside from the fact that his shyness was always a barrier in social situations.

And here, in this club which exuded sex and fetish and possibility, it all seemed too crude, too primitive to appeal to him. Girls exposing themselves to a dark room of unknown horny men. Flesh rippling like slabs of meat when they moved to the music like prize pets on display. A quick fuck with a stranger. It wasn't his cup of tea. And the knowledge that underneath the sequins and seductive smiles, there was a darkness, a desperation so strong that they would fuck for money took the blood out of his cock and sent it to his head, making it spin with the injustice.

And then he saw her.

She was dancing with another girl. They were both Latina, and slender coffee-toned limbs tangled together as they moved with each other.

She moved fluidly, rhythmically, as if the music was within her. When she dipped and arched her back, her perfect ass stuck out, round and pert, and Collins sucked in a gasp of air as he felt a tightening in his crotch.

Then, as he continued to stare, he noticed. Her flat chest, sculpted abs. The slight bulge. Her hair was a wig.

Even as his mind boggled in surprise, he felt his crotch constrict further.

She - she was definitely a _she_ no matter what certain parts of her anatomy indicated to the contrary; Collins understood this immediately and didn't give it second thought from then on - turned, soft black hair falling across her face, and he saw her eyes light up as she laughed with the other girl.

Her brown doe-eyes were deep and sparkling with something, a magic that seemed to emanate from within her, that set her apart from all the other girls. And this intoxicating gaze was being aimed right at him.

Collins forgot his disgust at the situation.

She seemed to be dancing only for him.

* * *

Angel was relaxing into the job.

Having worked there for a week and a half, she was already beginning to loose the sentimentality about what she was doing, and strangely dancing and performing sex acts for strangers was increasing her confidence greatly. Decreasing her self respect and dignity in the process, but providing an outlet for the wild, passionate girl she had always been inside. Dancing on stage with Mimi, her new best friend, a real sweetheart, she could almost forget where she was and imagine that the cheers and shouts were not of lusting men, but of an adoring audience. Like most idealistic girls she had secret fantasies of being a star. A dancer. Or maybe a musician.

After hearing her tap out a rhythm on two beer bottles with a pair of chopsticks one night, the manager had toyed with the possibility of including a novelty percussion number in the nightly show. The customers would be impressed, entertained. She was already somewhat of a talking point, her anatomy being what it was. It was provisionally scheduled for a trial run next Friday.

These were the things Angel let her mind wander to whilst her body, detached, moved for their pleasure.

But tonight, someone caught her eye.

It was a while before she realised he'd been staring at her, only her, for the past few minutes.

She immediately felt more conscious of every movement, wondered if her wig was still in place, glanced quickly down to check that the slight bulge in her lacy black panties was still as slight as it could be.

She slipped in front of Mimi to get better view of him.

The next time she turned, she caught his eye. Her breath stopped in a sharp lump at the base of her throat. Soft brown eyes, wide with adoration. Those kind, sweet eyes were the ones that she dreamed about, that she had been waiting to look into since she was old enough to understand romance; they belonged to her Prince Charming.

She lowered herself into a split, legs spread, head tilted with her chin pointed downwards so that she was looking at the crowd through long dark lashes, to get another look at him. Mouth slightly open, full lips, turned up in a dazed, subconscious smile.

She rolled over and flicked her head back again, drinking him in in glances, small sips. Smooth chocolatey skin, big hands spread on the table, quite tall, with a slightish but sturdy frame from what she could make out from his sitting position.

But it was the eyes that had her: the frank emotion in them.

Angel, defiantly naive and un-jaded in spite of her past experiences and current circumstances, had always believed in love at first sight; just as she believed love's power, stronger even than magic.

Now she wondered if this was it.

Her eyes were locked with his; she couldn't move them. She felt herself grow hot under his appraisal, and the butterflies that she had banished on her first day returned to her stomach with a vengeance.

Something rose up inside her, and she let herself go before she realised what she was doing. Jumping a few feet into the air, she caught the cool steel of the pole between her thighs, feeling it burn and arose a little as she twirled spectacularly down it, arching her back and sticking out her ass.

She heard the whistles rise up from below her and sucked her red glossy lip subconsciously as she looked over her shoulder, her long dark hair shielding her face almost completely, to see if she'd affected him as she'd hoped. He was sucking his lip too, harshly, biting and sucking, and she noticed him shift in his seat, adjusting his crotch.

Even as her cheeks flushed wildly, she felt her painted lips spread into a wicked grin. She looked again and saw he was grinning back at her, shyly, and she nearly crashed into Mimi.

She felt like she and this mystery man were the only two people in the dim, dirty underground club. And it wasn't dim and dirty, it was glowing, filled with magic.

She felt like she was dancing only for him.


	3. To Business

_A/N: Thanks very much for the reviews, everyone. This is where I really take liberties with my AU and make the Cat Scratch Club basically a brothel. The premise is, the girls are employed to dance, then sleep with the customers. A bit like situation in the movie Moulin Rouge or something. Sorry I didn't clarify that before the previous chapter. But although there were some references to it, this is the point where it's necessary to the story. __I think I'm going to post two chapters today. Woot. Enjoy._

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To Business

When the show was over, Angel grabbed Mimi backstage, pulling her into a dingy corner, and told her about the mystery man. Excited whispers in Spanish.

Skipping through the purple chiffon opening in the wall, Mimi helped her push through the crowd of girls to get a space at the front of the mirror, ignoring the bitchy comments and elbows digging in her ribs. She touched up her make-up, her delicate hands shaking. Smudge, blot, blend. Smudge, blot, blend.

Meanwhile Mimi chattered excitedly, hands on her shoulders, pulling her hair back off her forehead and fixing it with a flower pin above her ear.

"Beautiful, girl. He won't be able to keep his hands off you."

Angel's shaky grin stretched to her ears, and she squeezed Mimi's bony hand. Mimi glanced over her shoulder at her own reflection, frowning.

"Hey Angel, could you do my eyes? You know you're a thousand times better than me."

"Sure honey, pass me the liner."

Mimi ducked under an armpit, bumping the girl's arm and causing her smudge her blush and swear loudly. Ignoring the Look directed at her, she came back triumphantly, clutching a blunt black eyeliner pencil.

As Angel concentrated on her left eye, biting her tongue to stop her hand from shaking with nervous energy, Mimi began an animated story about a guy who was in tonight. Roger was his name. They'd been together when he came in a few weeks before, and she was really hoping he'd want her again tonight.

"So you better make me sexy, chica! Not that it's much of a challenge, right?" She nudged Angel, giggling.

Angel replied with a distracted noise; her mind had drifted to those soft brown eyes. She conjured them again in her mind. They seemed wise and kind. Her stomach clenched with hope that they were waiting for her out in the club.

Collins sat in a dark corner, smoking a joint and sipping slowly from a bottle of something that didn't taste like beer.

Ditched by Mark for a brassy girl with dark curls, whom he had taken outside with an expression of wonderment on his face. Roger had gone in search of a particular girl he remembered from a previous visit. Mimi, he said. A smouldering Latina.

Collins sat there hoping she wasn't the girl he'd seen earlier. He knew it was ridiculous given her line of work, but the thought of anyone else touching her made him squirm. At the same time he knew he would never summon the courage to approach her himself.

Besides, this part of the evening made him uncomfortable. The show was over, now it was down to business. The sex.

He watched from his corner as the girls came out in twos and threes from behind the stage; all tits and hair and lipstick. Enticing was their aim. Pleasant smiles fixed on, eyes dead. He watched the men approach. Business men; cold, impersonal, too busy for a relationship, looking for release after a stressful day. Truckers, shipping merchants, workers from the docks; macho, leering at the girls as they passed. Loners; dangerous, unpredictable, the intensity in their eyes unnerving. Old guys, so old Collins doubted they'd still be able to get it up. And young guys, very young, with acne and too much hair gel; smoothing their sweaty palms nervously against the shirts that their moms ironed, looking like little boys in a candy store.

Angel stepped out alone. Mimi had found Roger lurking at the entrance to the changing room, and he'd barely handed over a wad of dollars before she'd wrapped her legs around his waist and buried her face in his neck.

Angel ran a hand along the cold wall to balance on her shaky legs in the platform boots, the glitter in her electric blue nail polish glinting as it reflected the flashing disco lighting.

Her heart pounded in her chest in time with the beat of the loud music as she scanned the room.

Suddenly a hand caught her wrist from behind, spinning her around. She came face to face with a familiar scowl; cold green eyes, narrowed with lust, a scar through the eyebrow half-closing one of them permanently, the mouth twisted in a sly smile. A guy from last week. A rough, sadistic, bastard.

He used the grasp on her wrist as leverage to pin her against the wall, trapping her with his heavy body, sliding the other hand up the inside of her thigh to grab at the male part of her anatomy.

"Miss me babe?" he growled, his stale breath choking her as he licked the side of her face. She wriggled and squirmed helplessly, failing to avoid his wandering hand.

"You were working that ass tonight, you dirty whore," he moved the lower hand briefly to slap her hard on the ass.

"How much?" he asked, using the hand on her ass to pull her flush against the hard lump in his pants and stuffing a fistful of dollars into her clenched palm.

Angel felt the hope she had been kindling since seeing the brown eyes die. She couldn't refuse a customer. Against the rules. Wouldn't want to get in trouble with the manager. Good jobs were so hard to find. She wanted to scream with frustration.

Instead, she gave him a price, as the image of her mystery man faded away, out of reach. But she couldn't help the cry that escaped when he pushed the lace of her skimpy underwear aside, wrapping his hand around her cock and laughing.

"Good girl," he mocked harshly.

"Get off of her." The deep smooth voice was urgent and pained.

At first Angel thought she'd imagined it. Her mystery man come to save her. Her eyes widened as her tormentor was pulled from her and her rescuer was revealed. It was him. The soft brown eyes frowning in concern. She couldn't believe it. When he looked at her she felt warmth seeping into her chest. A flush immediately spread to his cheeks and he looked as though he wasn't quite sure what to do next. Their eyes locking again, they took each other in, forgetting about the third person in the situation until he roughly shoved Collins aside and reinstated his grip on Angel's wrist.

"Fuck off Nigger, I've paid," he spat.

Collins turned to Angel, the overwhelming desperation to protect her cancelling out not only his extreme shyness, but his hesitation and embarrassment at buying a hooker.

"Whatever he's paying, I'll give you double," he said.

He ignored the fact that his worldly value was little over twenty dollars, pushing the thought away for later, unable to think about anything but saving the beautiful creature from this man who took the light out of her eyes.

"Done!" Angel breathed gratefully, twisting out of the grip on her wrist and dropping the dollars he'd stuffed in her hand. They fluttered to land on the sticky floor around his thick black boots.

When she moved to stand near Collins, he put his hand on her waist protectively, surprising himself with his boldness. She was so slight and delicate that he worried he would hurt her as he guided her swiftly away from the man, who was shouting crude insults after them. She winced at his choice of words, but this was overtaken by a shiver of pleasure as Collins' hand slipped lower, his thumb brushing bare skin between her corset top and lace panties. He seemed to noticed this too, as he pulled his hand away abruptly.

Collins had guided her to the secluded corner he'd sat in earlier, where the combination of the music and the noise of the crowds was dulled to a hum, and a vanilla scented candle burning in a tin lid balanced on an upside down pint glass attempted to create an atmosphere for potential customers. They stood facing each other, mere inches between them. Awkward in a comfortable way. The vanilla from the candle made Angel dizzy.

"Thanks" she said, her eyes smiling at his, "He was.."

"No problem," Collins shuffled his feet, smiling back shyly, before turning the focus of his attention to his scuffed boots. Her voice was the sweetest and sexiest thing he had ever heard.

"So, what do you want?" Angel asked. The fact that she liked this guy didn't change the fact that he was her customer, despite that for the first time she was looking forward to her task.

Her question caught Collins off-guard. He hadn't planned that far in advance. When he thought about it, there were a lot of things he wanted from Angel. Things that he wasn't sure he could even fully acknowledge yet, because of their terrifying power and the depth the wanting feeling permeated, and the fact that he'd wasted four years becoming wise only to feel like a lost teenager again in front of this little person. But he didn't want a hooker.

"Um, I dunno," he said "This is my first time doing this." He half-chuckled, "I was dragged here by my friend. Roger."

"Roger?" Angel asked "Yeah. He comes here quite a bit. You don't..um..know him, do you?" Collins hated the jealous monster that seemed to have taken residence in his chest in the past few hours.

"Oh, no! No, no." Angel quickly shook her head, eliciting deep rolling chuckle from Collins with the strength of her conviction. His voice made Angel think of creamy dark chocolate or a silky blanket unfolding. Her pointy pink tongue darted out to wet her lips, which were dry where she was breathing so heavily.

"My friend, Mimi, they're...acquainted." Her mischievous wink made Collins tingle.

"Mimi. I think he mentioned her." he replied, pleased with how relaxed the conversation was becoming, taking one hand out of his pocket.

Angel, however, felt guilty for keeping him talking. He had agreed to spend a lot of money on her, and whilst he seemed to be enjoying the conversation as much as she was, and in spite of her idealistic belief in chivalrous gentlemen and love, she knew what men came to strip clubs for. And it wasn't good conversation.

Taking initiative, she moved closer and slid her hand up his arm. She had a pink plastic ring on her little finger and it clicked against the button on his cuff.

"So what can I do for you, honey?" she breathed, as seductively as she could. She wanted to please him. Wanted this to be the best night he'd ever had. Then maybe he'd remember her. Come back again.

Collins froze at her advance and she frowned; worried, confused. Seeing her expression, he worried that he'd offended her. It wasn't that he didn't want her. He'd never wanted anyone so much before in his life, hadn't thought it was possible to want someone like this. But what he wanted shouldn't start with a fumble in a dark corner.

"Can we just talk?" he asked.

"That's all you want to do, honey...talk?" When Angel's frown deepened, her nose crinkled adorably.

"Yeah. D'you wana drink?" He allowed his eyes to meet hers, and when they did she forgot about her job.

Nothing was as important as the question in those soft brown eyes. Do you want to? Yes.

"Okay," she said.


	4. Connection

_A/N: And chapter four..._

* * *

Connection

They talked for hours.

Meaningful and irrelevant things: funny stories, childhood memories, dreams and plans, Madonna.

At one point Collins began to engage her in philosophy, giving an elaborate description of his musings on computer age technology, which she seemed eager to hear. Although she was very intelligent in some ways, Angel actually understood very little of what Collins said.

But she loved the richness of his smooth baritone, and the way his eyes lit up when he became passionate about the subject matter. So she pretended to follow, nodding eagerly, her hand creeping up to rest on his thigh whilst he was distracted.

She was amazed at his confession that he'd never opened up to anyone like this before. He was amazed at the ease with which the words tumbled out, his shyness forgotten in the draw of her eyes.

In the middle of one of these musings, Angel tuned into the background noise from the rest of the club for long enough to hear her favorite song playing. The pumping bass surged through her, her hips almost began to sway of their own accord. She grabbed a startled Collins by the collar, her eyes dancing with excitement.

"Oh, honey! It's my favorite song! Will you dance with me?" She beamed at him, batting long eyelashes and then giggling at her own attempt to be coquettish.

Collins, who had paused on an intake of breath the moment she took hold of his collar and pulled him to her and had yet to release the breath, could literally feel himself melting; at her mercy.

He muttered unintelligibly about being a bad dancer, but allowed himself to be lead by the hand to the dance floor. When he interlaced his fingers with the hand of Angel's he was holding, she looked back over her shoulder, strands of black hair in her eyes, and a radiant smile on her face. They both felt electric.

The pounding bass grew louder as they moved on to the dance floor.

Collins licked his upper lip; it was salty where sweat had begun to bead already in the humid claustrophobic crowd of writhing bodies. He smelt the salt and sweat and passion, it hung in the air.

Angel appeared in flashes of the wild strobe, throwing herself into the dance with passion, her lithe body swaying and spinning, arching and dipping. She felt ecstatic; the music vibrating through her, the sweetest guy in New York City awkwardly shuffling in front of her, his wide eyes transfixed on her body. It felt good. She flung her arms around his neck and moved against him.

This time instead of pulling away, he held her hips low, cupping her ass, and let his body learn her rhythm. He picked it up quickly, surprising himself, and soon they were swaying together easily. Bodies flush, foreheads touching, noses brushing. The moment was perfect. She wondered whether it would spoil it if she kissed him. And then saw that he was tilting his head towards her.

Their eyes met briefly – a sizzle of electricity shot upwards from her stomach – before blinking slowly closed. Bodies still pressed together and swaying subconsciously to the music. Lips inches apart. She pressed lightly forwards, barely feeling the soft touch of his bottom lip; his hands still on her ass, his heart beating frantically against hers.

"Collins!" He didn't register that he'd been yanked away from Angel away by the shoulder until about five seconds after it happened. She slipped from his hands, and he spun round to find himself face to face with Roger.

"There you are, man. We've been looking everywhere for you."

He noticed the Latina from the stage, presumably Mimi, playing with Mark's glasses just behind Roger's shoulder, both of them giggling.

Roger glanced over at Angel, who smiled warmly at him and Mark and gave Mimi a little wave.

"Sorry to interrupt." He turned back to Collins, "Just wanted to let you know we're out. We're going to the Life. You coming?"

Collins looked at Angel. When their eyes met in front of his friends, he felt his shyness return. He also knew, as those eyes captivated him, that he didn't want to leave Angel.

And not just in this instance. Ever. The intensity of this feeling overwhelmed him. He mused that love didn't seem any more understandable to him now that he seemed to be experiencing it than it had when it was just a concept, a rumour.

Love. Love at first sight, even. Well, first meeting. He couldn't be in love. With a prostitute. Then he realised that still he hadn't answered Roger's question.

"Earth to Collins?" Roger laughed. He was known for drifting off into thought sometimes, never usually being an active participant in conversations anyway.

"Coming with us now, man?"

Collins glanced at Angel one more time before answering, as if to reassure himself that she was still real, still standing there, wanting him.

"I, um, I'm gona stay with..." He realised with a shock that he didn't know her name.

"Angel," she supplied, brightly, "I'm Angel."

"With Angel." He finished.

"Okay. You kids play nice then." Roger joked.

"See you later, Collins!" Mark called, swatting Mimi away from his face and diving after Roger, who was already disappearing through the throng of bodies.

"If we're not at Life, we'll be back at the loft."

Collins chuckled,

"Angel?" he said. He liked the way it sounded. Angel. Angel. Angel.

"Uh huh," she nodded, amused at his reaction. "Why'd you find it so funny?"

"I don't it's just...it's perfect for you." She blushed and dropped her eyes, only her smile betraying how pleased she was.

"And what's your name, honey? I can't believe we've been together all night and we've only just been properly introduced!" She raised her eyebrows, making Collins laugh again.

"I heard your friends call you.."

"Collins. Tom Collins. My friends call me Collins."

"Then Collins it is. Now where were we?" She smiled again, warmly, taking his large hands in hers, moving to place them back where they were on her hips.

But no sooner had they brushed there, they were interrupted again.

Her manager.

Furious that Angel had spent the entire night with one customer, and not even had sex with him yet. The disciplining was stern and heartless; the annoyance of a businessperson who was having probems with their product.

"You're starting to get regulars! They come here every night, they bring good money to spend in my club. You've got to spread your time evenly. You can't go picking and choosing the ones with the nicest eyes or the biggest cock."

Collins received an appraising look.

"You've not even been here two weeks; don't think I'll have any hesitation in firing you! You've got fifteen minutes to finish up with this one. And then there's one waiting for you at the bar."

Glancing over to the stack of crates against the far wall that passed for the 'bar', Angel's heart plummeted as she saw the stony green eyes of the guy who had pinned her earlier watching her over the rim of his glass. When she turned back, her manager had gone.

Collins swallowed heavily. His eyes fled again to his shuffling feet, though he raised his voice so that Angel could hear him above the music, which pounded on, oblivious to the tension between them.

"I could pay more" he said. It would have been softly if it weren't for the music. "For the night, I mean. I could pay for the whole night."

Angel couldn't shake the depression that had fallen, like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach.

"That's a generous offer, honey, but it's not the point. It's the image; I'm supposed to seem available, that's sexy. Sitting in a corner and chatting with you doesn't do that."

"Oh." Collins couldn't think of anything else to say.

The injustice of the circumstance baffled him. This beautiful creature, whose magic was already drugging his senses and persuading him to fall in love with her. His first love. A stripper. A hooker. He wanted to scream. He wanted to reach out and touch Angel. He didn't know what to do.

Angel felt like burrying herself in this his arms and crying. Tom Collins. The embodiement of all her naive belief in love. He was the closest to Prince Charming she would ever get. He was better than Prince Charming because he was real, standing there with his hands still resting lightly on her hips where she'd put them and the beginnings of pain forming in his eyes. She wanted to drown in those kind, soft eyes if that was at all possible.

But instead, her survival instinct kicked in. She put on the act of seduction like a mask; shielding her vulnerability, her desperation to be loved. She would get the job done.

Bringing a delicate hand up to stroke his cheek, willing it not to shake, she tilted her head to whisper softly and seductively, her lips brushing against his earlobe.

"We could still do something in these fifteen minutes. I'll do anything you want, honey. What do you want me to do for you?"

She felt the shiver run through Collins' body and began to kiss the side of his face. Feather-light kisses. Collins couldn't stand it.

"Okay, Angel," He managed to say, a slight shake in his voice. "I want you to strip for me."

Angel drew back, hesitating for a moment, disappointed that he wanted something impersonal, where she was objectified, and not intimacy. It took her less than a second to recover. Silently, she led him off the dance floor, back to their corner. The atmosphere now was unpleasantly awkward. The vanilla candle had burnt out and the sharp, distinct after-smell of burning hung around them. If Angel had been a poetic person, she would have thought it was symbolic.

She pushed Collins down into a chair, and he shifted and sniffed and his hands fiddled nervously. He was barely looking at her.

She closed her eyes at first whilst she moved. Concentrating on the music to gain her composure, certain she would break if she didn't have the steady, soothing rhythm to hold on to. When she was calm enough to open them, Collins' face was sweet again. The same wide-eyed adoration that he'd stared with during the show, on the dance floor, occasionally during their long conversation when he'd thought she wasn't looking. It made her feel like the sexiest girl in the world.

Reeling as a fresh wave of affection for him washed over her, she channeled it into her performance. She wanted to make him harder than he had ever been. For her.

Stringing it out; elaborate twirls, impossible stretches, arching in the way that she knew he liked from earlier. She did a little dance before she even removed any clothing. Not that there was much to remove. Shoes first. Slowly unzipped, knee to ankle, then kicked off. Wriggling her toes, legs spread wide. Fishnets peeled off one by one. Running the material over the exposed parts of her body, before tossing them aside.

She enjoyed watching him squirm a little, watching him abandon his attempts to hide his obvious errection. His eyes grew wider than ever when she whipped the corset off quickly, in a fluid motion that continued into a dance. Rippling down her body, showing off her tight abs. When she got to the lace panties, however, she paused. Her perfect nose crinkled anxiously. Her eyes locked with Collins' and in a second he understood, and he saved her.

"Stop." He commanded. His deep voice had become a chocolatey growl in his arousal.

She smiled, because he'd stopped her and because his voice was delicious. When she heard herself speak, it was higher and softer than she'd intended.

"What do you want me to do now, Collins?" Their eyes were still locked, unable to tear away. Collins' heart pounded in his ears and Angel bit her bottom lip distractedly.

"Kiss me," he said, unblinking.

Her eyes widened in surprise, delight. Without a word, she crossed to his chair and straddled his lap, sliding her hands up his chest, palms flat against his nipples through his shirt, coming to rest on his cheeks. They were burning underneath her palms, his shyness making him adorable to her. One hand cupped his face whilst the other wrapped around his neck to tangle in the hair at his hairline, inches below the edge of his knit hat, pulling his face to hers.

She touched his lips gently with hers and felt boiling heat spread all over her body. Through the haze she registered his hands on her, grazing her ass before running up her back, holding her close, whilst he cherished her with his mouth. She slid her tongue in, meeting his and massaging it expertly. It was passionate, perfect. It seemed like it would never end. This was how it should be, for her, for him, for them; forever. Nothing else in the world was as good as this.

As the kiss became heated, Angel felt her crotch tighten. The buldge there grew and rubbed against his as she wriggled against him. She felt his errection grow harder beneath her, pressing against hers. His soft growl into her mouth fuelled her arousal further. No-one had ever made her feel good like this before. She wanted so badly to please him.

Angel pulled back from the kiss, licking his sweet taste off her lips as she scooted down him. She knelt at his feet, smiling up at him brazenly thorough her long dark lashes. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He felt like a schoolboy. Taught, coffee-toned calves alongside his big black boots, she felt small at his feet. She felt like she was made of glass, breakable, but under the mask of Seductress she could protect herself. And maybe, if she was good enough, he'd want her for more than just tonight. She reached up to fumble with the buttons at his crotch.

His hand stopped her. Pushed her hand away. His eyes clouded and his face creased into a frown.

"Don't," he said softly.

"Come on, baby" she coaxed, pouting, playing sexy. "Let me take care of this. I can work this mouth over a cock like you wouldn't believe. Don't you want it, honey?"

Collins sighed, leaning back in the chair and balling his fists. The change in his docile nature alarmed her. When he spoke, the words were choked out through heavy emotion.

"Yes, I want it. I want you, more than I can say."

Angel melted a little, but her stomach plummeted as he continued.

"But I don't want a whore. I won't let you be my whore. You deserve more than that. You...I..." Collins sighed in frustration, and got up, causing Angel to jump up quickly to avoid being pushed over.

"I'd better be going" he said, looking anywhere but Angel's face. "My fifteen minutes are probably up anyway" he added, laughing coldly, ironically. Leaning over to brush a light kiss against Angel's cheek, he finished softly, "Thanks for the best night of my life. You're special, girl. Don't waste it here. Don't let it die."

Still avoiding her eyes, Collins turned and pushed through the crowd, disappearing before he reached the door. Angel fought the stinging in her eyes as she watched him leave. She nearly ran after him, but spent too long thinking about it, and he was gone before she had the chance.

Later though, pinned by the bastard with the cold green eyes and wandering hands, she let the tears fall. When his mouth moved over hers, stale breath hitting her face, she turned her head away, leaving him to nuzzle on her neck. She couldn't kiss him; she could still feel Collins' kisses on her lips.


End file.
